The scent of feminine lust filled the SUV as Damien D’Angelo drove it through the streets of Chicago, the impending violence exciting Abigail and their women. Abigail sat beside him clad only in her red hair, thighs glistening, eyes dilated, cheeks pale, nipples hard. In her hand she cradled her 9mm automatic handgun with an extended clip.
They were all armed. Damien’s silver-plated machete hung from his belt, the blade thrust past his seat. He wore his blood-stained combat fatigues. The dried blood stiffened the fabric and formed a mosaic pattern of cracks from his movement. In the back, the wet sound of female masturbation echoed. Rosa moaned, the vampiress consumed by the impending slaughter.

Rosa lived for it.

Ahead, Faust Tower rose over the city. Though Faust was dead, and the fond memory of his torment and death hours ago was seared into Damien’s mind, the Tower still beat with his fester. Father Augustine had usurped the vampire.

And Father Augustine held Damien’s angel in his soul.

A possessive hatred burned inside Damien. He guttered with rage. Tonight, he would paint Faust’s Tower with his old friend’s blood. Tonight, the priest would die.

“Cops,” Damien growled, his attuned senses picking up the crackling of police radios. Through the darkness, spread out around Faust Tower, was a police cordon. Chicago PD, once controlled by the vampire now belonged to the priest.

Damien grinned and hit the accelerator. The police cordon rushed towards them. His keen senses picked out the cops rushing to take cover behind their cars, aiming their weapons. Unless they were outfitted with silver, Damien had nothing to fear.

The engine roared. The tachometer redlined. The accelerometer climbed higher and higher. 60 MPH, 70 MPH, 80 MPH. The blockade hurtled towards them. Damien’s held the accelerator to the floor.

90 MPH.

The cops opened fired.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Father Hyrum Augustine, the first nephilim to live in 3000 years, grunted as he buggered Joy. The blonde, young woman gasped and moaned in delight, her bowels clenching on the priest’s cock, her butt-cheeks jiggling with every thrust.

Lusts burned in the priest. The stronger his body grew the more intense his lusts. All day as he waited for Damien’s attack, he had fucked. His office, formerly the weak Faust’s, lay strewn with semi-conscious women fucked into orgasmic insensibility. Their holes leaked the priest’s cum. He couldn’t stop fucking.

Even while Damien approached.

“Oh, yes, Father. Your cock. Oh, God, yes. Keep fucking me.”

Joy, enhanced by his unholy communion, could withstand the priest’s appetite. His cum smeared her naked body. It matted her blonde curls. Streaks of drying jizz flaked as she gasped and bucked, bent over the priest’s desk.

And the clench of her bowels were divine on the priest’s cock, building the pressure in his balls. His hands gripped her, strong. He grew younger with every passing minute, aging down from his late forties back to a man in his prime. His cossack fit tight about his deep chest while his cock barely fit in Joy’s hole.

The slut loved how his new girth he stretched her open.

The desk rocked. It had slid halfway across the office from his rutting, pushing up an expensive Ottoman rug now stained by the priest’s and his many whores’ fluids. Every part of the once elegant, sophisticated office was stained with the priest’s seed.

He had marked his territory.

“Cum in my body, Father! It’s why I exist. Every woman! Yours to fuck! Yours! Our wanton holes were created for you to dump your seed in, Father!”

Her words were Truth.

The priest slammed his cock into her and came. The jizz boiled out of his balls. The pleasure whipped through his soul. The feminine voice, the dark spirit he once believed was Holy, shuddered with him, reveling in the bliss. And, faintly, a third voice screamed and raged as her lusts flowed into the priest.

Invigorating him.

His hips did not stop thrusting. His cum boiled out of his balls but his dick was still hard. Cum oozed out around the priest’s dick, forced out by his thrusts. He savored the fresh scent of his cum and the moans of Joy as she came again.

The phone rang, the only object remaining on the desk.

Still fucking his slut, Father Augustine reached for the receiver. “Yes,” he grunted, his balls smacking into his slut.

“Damien approaches,” Lynette, the vampiress, purred. She had been Faust’s lover, but the vampiress was still female—still a whore. She had abandoned Faust for the satisfaction of a better cock. “He’s rushing the barricade.”

“Good,” the priest groaned and then the world outside erupted in gunshots.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abigail thrust her body out the SUV’s passenger window. Her red hair whipped behind her as she aimed her automatic 9mm. She laughed in delight as the cops opened fire with handguns, shotguns, and AR-15 rifles. She aimed and opened fire as the bullets hissed by her.

Bullets slammed into the SUV. Sparks danced on the hood. The right tire burst. The car swerved for a moment, but Damien held it on course. The engine chugged, whined, then died in a burst of black smoke that rolled over the vehicle.

But it went to fast to be stopped—a battering ram hurtling at 100 MPH.

Mary threw herself out the back door. The vampiress streaked past the SUV, a blur crashing into the cops. Abigail marked Mary’s progress only by the blood spurting from severed necks as she slashed with a silver-plated knife. Flowing in Mary’s wake was Samantha, the vampiress Abigail sired. The young woman became mist, white, ethereal, drifting beside the vehicle.

Abigail fired her 9mm. Each pull of the trigger sent a burst of three or four rounds from the gun. It spat them out in a rapid tat-tat-tat. With her strength and reflexes, the bullets struck their targets. Cops fell dead, each bullet landing between their eyes.

Abigail squeezed her juicy thighs together, savoring the carnage.

The SUV was 100 feet away.

Abigail pulled the trigger, firing the last rounds and killing three more cops. Bullets struck her. They stung for a moment before her body healed. They were lead. Impure. Harmless. Her gaze caught one cop’s eyes as she tossed her gun away.

She mesmerized the with her gaze.

Kill.

The heartbeat before the SUV crashed into the lead cop car, the mesmerized cop turned, aimed his AR-15 at the cop beside him, and fired. He did not miss at five feet. Abigail shifted her gaze to find another cop to mesmerize.

The SUV hit the first cop car.

Metal crunched.

Glass shattered.

Cops screamed.

Rosa moaned in joy as the SUV sent the cop car flying. Damien lost control of the SUV. It tumbled. The world spun. The force threw Abigail from the vehicle. She crashed her back into the side of a patrol car, bounced off, and landed on her feet before an astonished cop scrambling for cover. He had brown eyes, a youthful face.

“Kill,” Abigail purred as she stared into his eyes. “Kill all your friends.”

The cop’s eyes went dull. He rose mechanically, turned his shotgun, and opened fire. Abigail laughed. Pandemonium swept through the cops guarding the front of Faust Tower. Samantha swept through the police as mist. Where she passed, men screamed. A crimson hue spread through her pearly fog. The SUV came to a crashing halt against the security gate of the building’s parking garage. The vehicle had half penetrated through the metal partition, sheering the metal links. The engine burned. The vehicle smoked.

The side door kicked off and Rosa burst out naked and weaponless. She crashed into a cop, her teeth sinking, her thighs wrapped tight about his waist. Rosa humped the man as she fed, blood spurting around her face and staining her body.

Abigail laughed as her mesmerized cop fell in a hail of his own side’s bullets. More struck her, annoying gnats. She strode through the panicked cops to her husband, mesmerizing every officer she passed, leaving chaos in her wake.

Men screamed in frightened panic.

Damien climbed out of the SUV and ripped down the broken partition, opening the way into the parking garage. “Let’s go,” he snarled, pulling Britney out of the SUV. The busty thrall held a combat shotgun in hand. Her mother followed her out and then Vickie, a wild gleam in her eye, blood dribbling from a cut on her arm.

“Aurora!” snarled Damien.

Abigail smiled. Always soft with his women.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Exhilaration spilled through Britney Lawson as she raised her combat shotgun and fired it at a cop. More were in the parking garage. They wore the combat armor of SWAT Officers. Did Father Augustine get every cop in the city to guard him?

Did he think that would stop my Master?

The cop stumbled back, his body armor taking the blow. He raised his submachine gun, a compact, black weapon. A spike of fear shot through Britney that made her feel so alive. Unlike the vampires, she could be killed by normal bullets.

Her mother, Donna, crashed into the swat officer. Donna’s blonde hair spilled about her as she sank her fangs into the cop’s neck. The scent of blood filled the air. Britney licked her lips as she pumped the action on the shotgun and pivoted, firing at another cop.

The cop fired back.

Britney fell to her knees out of instinct, screaming in wordless excitement. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her blonde hair rippled as a bullet knifed past her face. An inch and I would have died. Everything became more real as time slowed to her. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, chilling her blood and sharpening her vision.

She pumped the action. A red shotgun shell tumbled through the air as she fired at the cop. Blood spurted from his legs. The buck shot tore through his black fatigues. The cop groaned and fell to the ground.

Britney sprinted forward, her bare feet slapping on the concrete. The cop struggled to get up, but his legs were mangled. She kicked his gun away, pushed him over onto his back, and aimed the shotgun right at his face.

“Please,” begged the cop.

Britney fired. Her heart soared. I killed someone.

She stared at the ruin of his face for a moment, savoring the exhilaration of ending a life. She understood the vampires better. It was a drug. Power. Britney could not imagine a narcotic more potent than pulling a trigger and snuffing out a life.

“Right, Mom,” Britney called and followed her mother through the parking garage.

Bullets cracked against support columns and pinged into parked cars. Glass shattered. Tires hissed as they deflated. Car alarms blared, flashing amber and red lights through the parking garage. More cops rushed from the right. Rosa fell into them, her body covered in blood.

So beautiful.

Donna jumped in front of her daughter. A cop’s submachine gun erupted. Donna shuddered, taking the bullets that would have hit Britney. They did not harm the vampiress. With a screech of maternal rage, Donna threw herself at the cop.

Why did Father Augustine have all these cop defend the building? He had to know they would be useless against vampires. They have no special weapons.

Britney furrowed her eyebrows. It didn’t make sense. The priest was a chaplain to vampire hunters—to Damien and Abigail. He knew how to fight the undead. He knew what weapons were effective and what would do nothing.

So why isn’t he using silver or white oak or holy water?

Unease settled into Britney. She cast her gaze about for her Master. A blur streaked across her vision, Mary racing at supernatural speed, gutting cops with her knife and leaving streaks of blood in her wake. The crimson mist of Samantha engulfed a squad of cops pouring out of a utility door. Their guns fired uselessly through her mist as they screamed and died. Abigail mesmerized more cops, turning them into her weapons.

And Damien strode at the far end, ripping car doors off their hinges with his telekinesis and hurtling them into cops, breaking their bodies. He was away from the other vampires, attacking a group of cops falling back.

Or leading him to a trap.

“Master!” Britney shouted and raced across the chaos.

Her bare feet slipped on blood slicking the smooth concrete. Bullets hissed past her. Her mother roared in her wake, attacking and protecting Britney. She ran through Samantha’s mist, caressed by the wet fog, leaving her body dripping in watery blood.

“Master!”

Damien turned to face her.

“It’s a trap!” Britney’s voice echoed.

As she shouted, the air rippled before Britney and a new vampiress appeared, black hair streaking about her face, a wild gleam in her eye. Britney gasped and tried to stop her flight before she crashed into the vampiress.

But Britney’s feet were slicked by blood. She slipped and fell forward. Britney impaled on the silver knife held by the vampiress. Pain shot through Britney. She stared down at the knife buried in her guts. The vampiress smiled and twisted the blade.

Agony flared.

Britney fell onto her back, clutching the gaping wound in her stomach. The vampiress licked the blood from her blade and vanished with a ripple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Britney’s cry turned Damien around.

The air rippled before him. The tall, blond man who handed Faust over this morning stood before Damien. Abigail called him the German, one of Faust’s three massive thralls, hulking men enhanced by the vampire’s dark ichor like Damien enhanced Britney. Only she was a 110 lb. girl. The German easily weighed a hundred pounds more.

His fist cracked into Damien’s face. The vampire grunted in pain, the bone snapping in his jaw. He crashed into a sedan. The car alarm set off as he bounced off and hit the ground. Damien’s jawbone healed as he rose.

The air shifted to his right. The Texan, another of Faust’s thralls, fired a crossbow bolt at Damien. The vampire dived, the white oak scoring across his back. Fire and pain flared. Damien grunted, rolling across the floor and drawing his machete.

“You fucked my wife,” growled Damien as he glared at the men.

“Yep,” the Texan drawled as he reloaded his crossbow. “And she was mighty fine, too. Came real good on our cocks.”

“Ja, the way she squealed as we fucked her was special,” the German grinned as he rushed in, a silver gladius in hand. He lunged the short, stabbing blade at Damien’s gut.

Damien swiped his machete to the side, deflecting the blade and gaining his feet. He snarled, anger bubbling through him. He hacked with the machete, eager to find the German’s flesh and spill his blood.

“The impotent rage of the cuckold,” laughed the German as he parried with his gladius. “Too late to change the past. Won’t unfuck your wife.”

“But we can always do it again,” the Texan drawled, raising his crossbow.

Damien darted right, forcing the German between him and the Texan. “Faust thought the same thing,” growled Damien. “He thought he could fuck my wife and not pay the price.”

“So she is whore, huh?” the German laughed. “Death’s steep price for her cunt. Her pussy ain’t that good.”

“We filmed it,” the Texan added, moving, circling, trying to get a shot. Damien moved with him. He was faster than the Thralls, his body leaner. “You can watch it over and over. Savor your wife’s passion as real men fucked her.”

Damien feinted to the right, swinging the machete wildly, the stroke of an angry husband. The German grinned, his gladius lunging at Damien’s unprotected side. The vampire twisted his torso as he balanced on one foot and shifted the swing of his machete.

A human would have fallen, overbalanced, his footing bad.

The gladius lunged past Damien’s side, missing by half-an-inch. His machete screamed through the air and struck the German’s neck, cutting through muscled flesh and striking the spine. The machete, designed to chop and propelled by a vampire’s strength, cracked through the vertebrate. Blood fountained as the German’s head spun through the air.

Then his heavy bulk crashed to the ground.

The Texan stood ready, his weapon aimed right at Damien’s chest.

Rosa darted in. She crashed into the Texan’s side, knocking his arm to the right. The crossbow bolt went wide, embedding into a car tire. Air hissed behind Damien as the Texan grappled with Rosa. The vampiress hissed and snarled, her fingers raking the huge thrall’s flesh, leaving bloody scratches behind while her fangs sought his neck.

“Fangwhore,” snarled the Texan as he through Rosa off of him.

The vampiress screamed and landed at Damien’s feet. Somehow, the Texan drew a white oak bolt and slammed it into Rosa’s stomach. The vampiress trembled on the ground, paralyzed by the wood burning her insides.

“Going to paralyze your wife and fuck her again,” bellowed the Texan as he cranked back his crossbow. “She’ll squeal on my cock over and over while that tight cunt massages my dick.”

Rage seized Damien. He roared and threw himself forward. The Texan didn’t flinch. He dropped the crossbow and his right hand darted beneath the suit jacket. It came out with a silver throwing knife. He flicked it.

Damien screamed in pain as it buried into his chest. The silver attacked his body. Pain flared. Damien stumbled and fell to his knees. Agony suffused his body. His undead heart labored as the poisonous silver reached for it.

“What?” the Texan asked, drawing a thick, silver blade from beneath his jacket. The big man bent over, planting his knee on Damien’s shoulder. The knife, the edge serrated for cutting, lowered to Damien’s throat.

“They wouldn’t feel your small dick.”

The Texan smiled. “Well, I guess you’ll never know. You’ll be down in hell.”

Damien’s telekinesis seized the silver throwing knife embedded in his chest. He wrenched it out, turned the blade, and slammed it into the Texan’s throat. Arterial red sprayed. The big man reached at his throat, gaping as he brushed the blade embedded in him. He pulled the knife out.

A crimson fountain spurted.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he spilled over. “Shouldn’t have…done that.”

Damien heaved the corpse off of him, licking his lips, savoring the Texan’s blood. He had one more thrall to kill for fucking his wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world rippled around Abigail. The vampiress froze in a crouch. Trickles of cop’s blood ran down her body. Silence descended on the parking garage. All the gunshots and screams, the car alarms and crackling fires, ended.

A stillness gripped the garage.

Her eyes flicked about. The cops, the vampiresses, and Damien all vanished. Her ears pricked, straining for any sound. She inhaled, searching for any scents. Only her excitement and the blood dripping from her body caught her nose.

She furrowed her eyebrows. She caught another scent. Feminine. Not Samantha, Rosa, Mary, Donna, Britney, or Vickie.

Abigail spun, following the scent. Her heart beat faster as she crept through the parking garage. The female scent grew stronger as she moved towards the elevators. Abigail moved like a hunter. Stealth, cunning, patience. She wove through the bullet-ridden cars, peering through splintered windows or around fenders, trying to find the source.

Black hair. Dark business suit. Nylon-clad thighs. A woman stood before the elevator. Professionally dressed. One of the office workers? No. Any normal human would be screaming right now.

A vampiress. One of Faust’s serving the priest?

Abigail crept closer. She stilled her breathing. It wasn’t necessary. She slowed her heartbeat. Silent steps. A ghost moving closer. Abigail’s guts squirmed. Nothing was right about this. Something had happened to her.

A stab of excitement shot through the vampiress. A challenge lay before her.

“Now, Abigail, skulking? What happened to the bold girl that brazenly walked into the liquor store and bought us all our first wine coolers.

Abigail froze. She knew that voice. “Lynette?”

Abigail rose and took a good look at the woman at the elevator. She was young, eighteen, beautiful. She looked the same as Abigail remembered. I’ll see you tomorrow, Abigail had said to Lynette. Tell me how your date with Vincent goes.

I’ll tell you every detail. He’s such a stud. He is getting lucky tonight. Lynette had laughed, a wicked giggle that was at odds with her fresh, Midwestern looks. They had hugged and parted, Lynette waving as she walked from Abigail’s house.

“Hello, Abigail,” Lynette purred, sliding a hand up her body, a sensuous purr.

Abigail strode to her friend. “I searched for you.”

“Well, you finally found me.” A sneer crossed Lynette’s lips. “Are you going to kill me? All those years hunting for me, putting down others of my kind.”

Anger mottled Lynette’s face. “I begged Faust to let me kill you. For years, I begged him. Pleaded with him. You took Vincent from me!”

“The vampire who turned you?” Anger flared in Abigail. “The vampire that killed our friends? Of course I killed him. I loved killing him. He was the first. And a girl always remembers her first.”

“Faust finally listened. He finally grew angry enough. You killed so many of his children. Beautiful creatures. We plotted in bed, discussing how best to inflict pain on you and Damien.” Exultation crossed Lynette’s face. “I don’t know how many times I came picturing you suffering before me, begging me to take your life for killing Vincent.”

“I killed Faust, too,” Abigail taunted, striding forward. “I bathed in his blood and fucked my husband while his unlife was still wet on us.”

Lynette shrugged. “Faust was weak. I found a better man to serve.”

“And is killing me one of your perks?” Abigail demanded.

“It can be.” Lynette licked her lips. Lynette hit the elevator button. The doors open. “Ride up to the top. Become Father Augustine’s whore and we can love each other like we used to.” A wicked giggle escaped Lynette. “Remember our slumber parties? Sharing kisses and more in the dark while your mother thought we were sleeping.”

Abigail’s pussy itched at the memory. Damien was the first man she ever lay with, but Lynette was the first person. They had made love, exploring each other’s bodies. Her body ached at the memory of their fumblings.

She crashed into Lynette. Suddenly, the vampiress was naked in Abigail’s arms, the clothes rippling away as they fell in a heap before the elevator doors. Abigail became so aware of her naked breasts pressing against Lynette’s, their nipples brushing.

They kissed again. Abigail groaned, her body bursting with excitement. All the cops she killed inflamed her lusts and now Lynette satiated them. The vampiresses snarled and hissed, sharing their passion as their fingernails raked and clawed each other.

“I hate you so much,” Lynette moaned as they rolled into the elevator, her hips undulating harder, grinding her clit into Abigail’s. “You killed Vincent. My Sire. I loved him.”

“I did kill him,” Abigail moaned, her fangs nipping at Lynette’s throat. Salty blood squirted. Abigail shuddered as she fed on her friend.

“And then you hunted me. I fled to Faust in fear of my best friend.” Lynette’s voice burned with passion. She ground their clits harder together,

Such wonderful sparks burst through Abigail every time.

“I hated you while loving you,” panted Lynette. “I dreamed of killing you and then licking your pussy. I wanted to skin you and wear you as a dress. To always be close to you.”

“You can,” Abigail moaned, her lips stained with Lynette’s blood. “I did hunt for you. I wanted to free you from the curse.”

“Only if you make me. Why would I want to set you free from this?” Abigail bucked her hips into her friend’s thrusts as the elevator lurched and rose. “I was a fool for thinking you needed to be liberated from undeath.”

Lynette smiled and kissed Abigail.

The vampiresses writhed together as the elevator rose. Their nipples rubbed together. The scent of their blood and pussies filled the air. Abigail shoved her hand past Lynette’s ass, reaching for wet pussy. Lynette moaned as Abigail penetrated the vampiress’s cunt.

The redheaded vampiress bucked beneath her friend, her lover. Their lips met, hot with Abigail’s salty blood. The pleasure washed through Abigail, soft and sweet. It reached her mind. The vampiress drank in the rapture as she kissed her friend.

The elevator doors opened.

Lynette popped off Abigail and darted out of the elevator. Lynette turned, standing winsome, her thighs glistening with her excitement. She crooked a finger at Abigail. The redheaded vampiress licked her lips, her body heaving with passion.

Abigail wanted more from Lynette, to taste her blood and her pussy. Abigail darted after her friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damien yanked the crossbow bolt from Rosa’s gut, ignoring the shaft burning his palm. He threw it to the side. Rosa groaned, her limbs moving, her hands rubbing at her smoking wound. Then, hissing like a cat, she threw herself on the dead Texan, tearing at his throat.

Damien let her vent her fury and scanned the battlefield. Britney lay wounded nearby, clutching her stomach. Her mother, Donna, knelt beside her. The vampiress met Damien’s gaze. “Did you see where she went, Sire?”

“Who?”

“The bitch who stabbed my daughter.”

Damien shook his head. “She’ll live.”

“I will, Mom,” panted Britney.

“You will,” Vickie said, limping to the group. She had a gash in her leg. A bullet had creased her thigh. Drying blood ran in sheets down to her calf. Vickie sighed as she sank down beside Britney. “Master, the cops are fleeing. They’ve pulled back.”

“To regroup,” Damien smiled.

He surveyed the parking garage. Smoke billowed from burning cars. Sprinklers hissed wherever the smoke rolled across the ceiling. Dead or dying cops littered the parking garage. The final thrall of Faust’s, the Black man, staggered, clutching his spurting knee. He fell to the ground.

A blur streaked by. Blood gushed from the thrall’s throat. He teetered over and fell. Mary appeared out of the streaking blur, her body splattered with drops of blood. The black-haired girl looked around, a pout appearing on their lips.

“They’re all dead, Sire.”

Samantha coalesced out of her crimson mist. Her naked body streaked with dripping blood. It splattered her glasses and clung to her long braid of brown hair. “I chased the last cops out of the south exit, Damien.”

“So there really are no more?” Mary pouted. She leaned against Samantha. “And I was having so much fun.”

“There’s still the priest,” Damien growled, looking up at the ceiling, wishing he could peer through all the intervening floors.

“Where’s Abigail?” Samantha asked.

Damien froze, he cast his gaze about. “Abigail?”

His voice echoed through the parking garage, a booming call. He cried again, his ears searching for any sound. None came back. Is she wounded? Dead? He couldn’t catch her scent over the blood and the excitement bleeding off his vampiresses. Juices dripped down all their thighs, mingling with the blood that splattered their bodies.

Damien’s own dick ached in his pants. He wanted to take Abagail, fuck her hard, and cool his ardor before fighting the priest.

“Abigail!”

“Abigail…Abiga…Abi…A…” echoed back.

“When was the last anyone saw her?”

“She was over there,” Samantha said, pointing towards the elevators. “Look, a few of her mesmerized cops are over there. They killed themselves when they ran out of other cops to kill.”

Damien moved at a run, his boots thudding as he raced through the parking garage. Was she caught up in the trap that almost killed him? A vampire, probably the woman who stabbed Britney, used illusions to hide the Texan and the German.

Damien threw a car out of his way with his telekinesis, running faster. Mary streaked past him, racing over the cars. She appeared on the far side, paused. She breathed in deeply, scenting the air. Damien pushed another car to the side, metal crumpling as it slammed into a red truck.

“I have her scent, Sire,” Mary said. She crouched down, sniffing. “Yes, yes, she was here. She went that way, towards the elevator.”

Damien reached her side. Abigail’s scent was clear, a mix of her tart pussy musk and the unique, salty aroma tinged with her favorite body wash. A scent Damien had smelled on her clothing and her pillow all through their marriage.

“I don’t scent her blood,” Mary added.

“She was lured to the elevator,” Damien growled. “There’s a vampiress about. She can use illusions. Do not trust your senses.”

“Then what do we trust, Sire?” Rosa demanded, joining him.

Damien shook his head. He had no answer. “Donna, stay with the thralls. Protect my women.”
“I will, Sire,” the vampiress answered, her voice ringing through the parking garage.

“And what are we doing?” Samantha asked. She bent down, wiping her glasses clean on the uniform of a dead cop.

“Going up.” The priest has my wife and my angel. Damien ached to rip his former friend and chaplain to pieces.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abigail followed Lynette as she raced down the halls, the hot scent of her pussy drawing Abigail on. Tangy, hot cunt and the promise of Lynette’s salty blood. Heaving passion. Orgasms. Abigail trembled, drunk on the excitement of finding her friend after over a decade of searching.

Lynette flitted naked through a pair of iron doors burst inward, her breasts heaving, bouncing, still firm with her youth. Abigail’s fingers clenched as her own breasts, though still gorgeous, had lost some of their perky firmness.

She caught Lynette just on the other side. Abigail pulled her friend to her. The vampiresses kissed, moaning as their bodies pressed together. A new scent filled Abigail’s nose—salty cum. It overwhelmed her. The wicked scent thickened the air, drowning out everything.

“Yes, yes, yes, Father,” gasped a young woman. “Keep fucking me.”

Abigail moaned, the slap of flesh echoing, the sound of a hard cock sliding into a woman’s tight ass. The grip of bowels on a shaft.. The grunt of masculine passion. Abigail shuddered. Her pussy itched as she moaned into Lynette’s lips.

“Whore!” the man yelled.

Father Augustine.

Abigail pulled away from Lynette, sense knifing through Abigail’s lust. The priest, younger than Abigail had ever seen him, his muscles stretching the black fabric of his vestments, threw back his head and groaned. Abigail heard the spurts of cum flood the already filled ass of the blonde spasming on the desk.

“You,” Abigail hissed as a wave of pure lust ran through her. She staggered, drinking in the sight of the priest’s power. “You took…Aurora.” Abigail shook her head. Her nipples ached, her clit throbbed. Her pussy clenched.

She wanted to be fucked.

“Abigail, how wonderful to see you again,” the priest grinned. “Oh, how long I have wanted to see you naked. I knew you were such a whore. Look at yourself. Without shame.”

“She’s such a whore, Father,” Lynette purred, pressing her body behind Abigail. Hard nipples and round breasts rubbed on Abigail’s back while Lynette’s hands slid around Abigail’s hips down to her pussy.

Her dripping pussy.

“She’s so wet for you, Father.”

“No,” Abigail groaned, shaking her head as the lust consumed her.

“I can see the whore’s desire in your eyes, Abigail,” the priest said, his voice orating with the same intensity he preached at mass. He slid his cock from the blonde’s ass.

Abigail’s eyes locked on the large cock, shiny with cum.

“You are but a slave to that sinful hole Lynette plays with,” the priest said, facing Abigail, his cock pointing at her. “I can see the war in you, Abigail. You desire to be faithful to your husband, but your lusts demand that you give in. That you cheat on him.”

“No,” Abigail groaned, shaking her head even as her right foot took a step forward.

Lynette giggled behind her.

“You have lusted for other men. Burned to experience sinful congress with their bodies. Yearned to be penetrated and filled. You did not care who fucked you.

“You just needed to be fucked.”

“No,” Abigail groaned again and walked forward, entranced by the dick.

Abigail’s pussy clenched. “Yes! So what!” She reached the priest. His cock was there, begging to be sucked. To be fucked. Another shudder ran through Abigail. “I never acted!”

“Yet.”

The priest’s words snapped through her. She staggered. The lusts surged in her.

“Fall to your knees and worship it.”

“The cock of cocks,” moaned Lynette as she nuzzled against Abigail’s back again.

What is happening to me? Abigail fell to her knees. The lust radiated out from the priest. He was her enemy. He attacked her, sent his whores to kill her. She shouldn’t be grasping his dick, stroking it, savoring the sour musk of the blonde’s ass.

The angel’s in him. He’s devouring her lust and its infecting me.

Knowing the truth didn’t stop Abigail from leaning forward, her mouth opening. She pressed the tip of the priest’s cock to her lips. Her eyes closed as a wonderful satisfaction rippled through her. Abigail’s pussy clenched as she sealed her lips about the dick and sucked.

The sour flavor of the blonde’s ass mixed with the salty musk of the priest’s cum. It was filthy and subservient to suck his dirty cock. Abigail moaned, her excitement growing as she slid more and more of his cock into her mouth, moaning, her tongue swiping.

Lust gripped her. She had to worship this cock. It dwarfed Damien’s, Faust’s, and all the men she was forced to fuck last night.

The cock of cocks. None was more perfect.

“Yes, I knew you were a whore, Abigail,” groaned the priest, his hand running through her red hair.

Your whore.

Abigail shuddered at the thought. It burned through her. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked harder, eager to clean his cock and worship him. Her hands stroked the base and cupped his balls. Her tongue swirled, gathering the sour flavor of the blonde’s ass while her thighs squeezed together, rubbing on her clit.

“I knew you were a slut. For as long as I knew you, I saw the wanton lust in your eyes. I waited the day you came crying into my confession, weeping over your indiscretion while knowing you had finally awakened to your whorish lust. Like all the other married women of my parish.

“One day, you would have cheated on Damien. And done it again and again. Like Donna. Like Mrs. Parson and Mrs. Tenor. You are all whores, parading your sins before me, exciting me. And now you shall satiate what you stirred. Now all you whores will surrender to me and spread your legs while your husbands watch.

“I will claim you all!”

Yes!

Abigail sucked harder. She moaned and groaned, her head swiveling. She rubbed the tip of his dick around her mouth, against her cheeks. She took more of him. He brushed the back of her throat. She had to give her all to him. She had to surrender every ounce of herself.

Abigail deep-throated his cock.

She swallowed every inch. She pressed her lips into his pubic hair, felt the curls tickle her flesh, breathed in his manly musk. His balls slapped her chin as he bucked. She moaned and swallowed, massaging and pleasing his dick, eager for him to spurt his cum into her.

Then she slid her mouth up his shaft, sucking the entire way. His groans spurred her on. She squirmed, her clit aching, throbbing. She squeezed her thighs so tight together. Pleasuring the priest’s cock excited her.

She slid her mouth down his cock as she came. The pleasure burst in the vampiress’s nethers. She moaned about the burning shaft as it filled her throat again. Rapture gripped her. The priest groaned louder.

I’m pleasing him!

The pleasure crashed through her mind. She gripped it. Held onto it. She embraced it. The pleasure was amazing, wonderful. It washed over her, left her dizzy. His fingers gripped her hair. He grunted, his balls slapping into her chin as he fucked her mouth.

“Fucking whore! I knew it! You were like all the rest!”

I am!

…Abigail… Aurora whispered. …trapped…help…

“Abigail!” Damien shouted.

“Hallelujah!” the priest cried as he came down Abigail’s throat. The vampiress shuddered as the cum warmed her stomach. A second orgasm crashed through her body on the heels of the first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shocked disgust gripped Damien when he entered Faust’s office. Abigail, on her knees, moaning about the priest’s cock. The scent of her lust washed through the air. The ground between Damien and Father Augustine lay strewn with half-unconscious women.

All fucked by the priest.

Rage seized Damien. The priest fucked his wife.

Impotent fury propelled Damien across the room. Blood streamed from his machete as he leaped over the fallen women. The priest’s head threw back as he came. Abigail’s throat worked. She swallowed, noisily, with delight.

She’s worshiping his cock! Why?

Damien roared.

The white oak crossbow bolt embedded into his chest at his sternum. Pain flared, burned. The purity embedded in the core of his body paralyzed him. His legs ceased to work in mid sprint. He pitched forward, landing on his side and rolling onto his back, his head lolling.

Stared at his wife as she popped her lips off the priest’s dick and stared up at Father Augustine with such worship.

Like she had for Faust.

“Abigail,” Damien groaned as his wife licked her lips.

“His cock,” his wife breathed. “What a cock. I have to feel it in me, Damien. I have to. It’s so huge. So big.”

“She’s a slave to her hole,” the priest roared, his dick still hard.

Abigail bent over the desk. Beside it, the air rippled and two women appeared, the blonde who rescued the priest this morning holding a crossbow and…Lynette. His wife’s missing friend, the vampiress controlling illusions.

Samantha flowed around to the other side followed by Rosa. All three vampiresses stared at the priest with worship. They stroked his thick shaft and guided him to Abigail’s waiting pussy. Damien bucked, roaring his rage, ignoring the purity stabbed into his chest.

The priest thrust into Abigail. She tossed back her head. Damien’s wife moaned her pure, unabashed delight as the cock stuffed her pussy. She shuddered and bucked on the desk, slamming her hips back into his thrusts.

“How can we serve you before him?” Rosa moaned. “How can we war against this man? He’s perfect.”

“All women are whores craving the strongest,” the priest grunted, his balls smacking into Abigail’s flesh. “And none are stronger than me!”

“NO!”

Damien’s roar echoed through the room, mixing with Abigail’s pants and moans. The married vampiress shook and shuddered on the desk, her face twisted with passion. Her green eyes flashed and her breasts jiggled as she arched her back.

Damien fought against the agony burning in his chest. He struggled to move. He reached out with his telekinesis and grabbed the bolt. He jerked at it. The head was barbed. Pain seared through him, the agony drowning out the humiliation of his wife’s moans.

Abigail’s orgasmic delight forced Damien to keep pulling on the bolt. Bone cracked. Flesh ripped. Smoke burst from his chest. His innards burned but he wouldn’t stop. He would prove to his fickle whores he was the strongest.

He would kill every man who touched his wife.

“Keep fucking me!” Abigail screamed. “Keep making me cum!”

Her tart excitement filled Damien’s nose. He could hear her pussy spasm about the priest’s cock, the wet thrusts of his dick, the juices raining on the floor as they fell from her cunt. She gushed for the priest.

Damien wrenched the bolt from his chest with his thoughts. Control returned to his body. Smoke billowed from the blackened hole in his sternum as Damien rose. He seized the bolt in his hand, embracing the searing pain as his palms burned.

He charged the priest fucking his wife. Father Augustine’s face twisted, too caught up in ramming his dick into Abigail’s cunt to notice Damien. All the vampiress’s were fixed on the union of the priest’s flesh and Abigail.

Damien stabbed.

The sharp point of the crossbow bolt slammed into the priest’s neck at his jugular.

The wood splintered and snapped.

Not a drop of blood was shed.

Damien gaped as he stared at the unmarred flesh of the priest. Not a drop of blood. Not even a red mark.

“What are you?” Damien gasped.

The priest’s hand shot out and seized Damien’s neck. Iron fingers crushed his throat. The priest lifted the vampire from the floor while his hips never stopped fucking Abigail. “I am the man you will grovel before. I am the man who claims your wife and whores.

“I am king, born once more to rule mankind.”

Damien gurgled as the fingers tightened, crushing his trachea, cutting off his breathing.